Midnight In Westchester
by ohyellowbird
Summary: FIRST CLASS / Charles is headed to his bedroom when he is assaulted in the hallway.


Charles closed the large ornate door carefully, his eyes loitering on the intricate carvings. He had been lounging in the library, caught up in the countless faces he'd seen while testing out Cerebro. Small children frightened by their gifts, adolescents struggling to appear "normal," and grown adults wrapped in shame. They were all suffering and needed guidance, _his_ guidance. Before he knew it, the grandfather clock chimed, alerting him to the late hour.

He willed his mind to slow, swallowing a deep sigh and releasing his hand from the brass knob. A night's rest would do him good; perhaps ease his mind of the demanding task ahead. His lower back throbbed, a pain he had not realized until now in the abandoned hallway. Down pillows and lush blankets called to his aching joints.

But Charles would not make it to his bedroom just down the corridor; he would not melt into the mattress, forgoing the task of removing his sweater and trousers.

No, he would be assaulted in that very hallway, dark and far removed from the other guests.

A hard, unforgiving body pressed his chest against the wall, calloused hands lodging themselves at either side of his shoulders like a pair of bookends, keeping him still.

Charles' struggled to remain composed, his hands crammed between himself and the wood paneling, palms glued to the wall.

Just as Charles reached out to brush against the brain directly behind him, his assailant spoke.

"Don't think I haven't seen them, Charles. Your eyes, the way they… _linger._"

_Erik,_ Charles whispered, mind to mind.

The metal bender sniggered at Charles' realization, the bridge of his nose resting against the shell of Charles' ear, his measured breath hot against the telepath's jaw.

Erik's body anchored Charles to the wall, chest pressed firmly to the younger man's back, the long line of his body bowing over Charles' slight form.

"I don't know what you mean." Charles managed after a moment, his voice calm and calculated.

Erik smiled into the dark hallway, his lips turning up at the corners, threatening to expose his wide shark-like grin.

"Don't lie, Charles. It's not becoming of you. Snooping into other people's minds isn't the only way to discover if someone fancies you. Although, I'm sure it's the only tactic that's every occurred to you."

Charles remained silent, struggling to breathe steadily with Erik's weight bearing down on him.

Sure, he had admired Erik's physique. But in his defense, who could blame him? The man was built like a roman soldier. All hard lines and muscle, lean and sinewy. And, yes, perhaps he had found himself lying in bed wondering what it would be like to feel those muscles, sculpted through years of training and revenge, beneath his smooth fingers; to trace the line of every battle scar. But admitting it now, in such a vulnerable moment, seemed foolish.

A thick, choking silence crept in, filling the long hallway.

It started slowly; the doorknobs rattled to life, light fixtures began to tremble. Soon the metal frame holding a large mirror on the opposite wall began to constrict, the mirror sighing in anguish as a crack formed in the reflective surface.

"Erik, stop." Charles demanded, just as the mirror gave way, splintering into a hundred deadly fragments and falling to the marbled floor in a series of clinks.

Erik merely chuckled darkly, rolling his hips forward to pin Charles' pelvis more securely. The creaking of metal ceased.

"Alright, alright. But I don't want the next words out of that mouth of yours to be a denial. No, they will be both a confession and an answer." His nose ghosted down the taut muscle at the side of Charles' throat, unable to resist breathing in the telepath's scent, his mouth coming to settle, at last, at the junction between throat and shoulder. "As you know, I am not capable of mind control. That is not my gift." The screws in a nearby outlet groaned. "Therefore, I cannot just pop into your head whenever I'm feeling curious. So tell me, what is it that's running through that brilliant mind of yours when your eyes stray for a moment too long?"

Charles swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing painfully. The hallway was, again, silent for a few long moments before Charles mumbled something to the wallpaper.

"What was that, Charles?"

Again, his response was unintelligible.

The large, calloused hand at the right of Charles' shoulder left its post momentarily to snake into the younger man's brunette hair, pulling his head back and away from the wall.

"Come again?"

Charles' tongue swabbed at his lips nervously. He stared up towards the ceiling, eyebrows knitted together.

His delayed response was shameful, yet rough. "Sucking your cock, Erik. When I'm watching you I think about sucking your cock."

The air was dense, Charles' mortification creeping up his spine, his eyes still staring, unseeing up to the dark ceiling.

Erik exhaled finally against Charles' skin, and sunk his teeth resolutely into the muscle connecting Charles' neck and shoulder, a low growl rumbling within his chest.

The hand that had been previously fisting Charles' hair fell slack before fastening once again to the wall at his shoulder.

The metal composer's jaw ached to clamp more firmly into Charles' tender flesh, but instead, after a moment, he released him. Erik then straightened out his long arms and eased his weight off of Charles', allowing the young man to turn shakily around in his arms.

Charles winced at the newly formed crescent moons denting his pale skin, summoning the courage to look up into the dark eyes of Erik Lensherr, pupils blown wide with malice and lust. He is suddenly thankful for the lack of lighting in the room; his cheeks burned impossibly bright.

The two men stare into one another and time ceases to exist, or so perhaps Charles has made it seem. Erik reaches between them to press the print of this thumb between Charles' parted mouth, dragging it over the red swell of the younger man's lower lip. His thumb then dips into the space above Charles' chin, fingers ghosting down his neck to rest at the dip of his throat. Charles sighs despite himself, leaning into the space between the two men.

He is able to make out the firm line of Erik's mouth, quirked up slightly at the corners. Erik's body idles, his fingers caught still in the hollow of Charles' throat. And then Charles is raking his eyes over the stone-like features of Erik's face. His high cheekbones, the angle of his jaw, the straight, white teeth barely visibly between his lips; _oh_, his lips. His tongue darts out subconsciously to lick his red mouth. Before he realizes, he is tilting his head up towards the ceiling again, this time for an entirely different reason. But just as Charles' lips threaten to close the distance, a heavy hand is at his shoulder, forcing him onto his knees.

Charles now kneels before Erik as though he was his savior, and for all he knows, he very well could be. His luminous blue eyes hungrily take in the lean body standing before him, wrapped in thin cotton: gunmetal grey sleep pants and a fitted black tee. Despite having fantasized about this moment for weeks now, Charles is nervous. His eyes reach Erik's apprehensively. Erik does not smile, but merely nods shortly, the long fingers of one hand skimming through Charles' thick hair.

And instantly, the imminent fear of rejection and being caught was gone, replaced by an overwhelming warmth of arousal; want.

_I've never done this before, you know._ Charles broadcasts to Erik even as he pulls loose the satin bow between Erik's hips. His quaking fingers curl into the waistband of his pants, and slowly, he peels them down Erik's impossibly long legs, his painfully hard cock bobbing free. _Beautiful._

Erik's free hand flies to the wall for support when Charles wraps his smooth, uncalloused hand around the base, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. And then he's there, his hot mouth covering Erik, tongue tracing the underside of him. Erik hisses, eyelashes falling over high cheekbones, hips bucking forwards reflexively. Charles' palm comes to rest on the older man's thigh to steady himself, his lips beginning to move slowly up and down Erik's thick cock, cheeks hollowed. He chances a glance at the man above him. Erik's head is thrown back, throat exposed. Mouth hanging slightly open, his bottom row of white teeth are visible in the dark, and Charles notices that the metal light fixture above them is vibrating silently.

The corridor is all heavy breathing, slurping sounds, and hushed cursing: an oral orchestra.

Charles groans around Erik's cock, his throat welcoming the wide intrusion. He had imagined this very moment countless times during chess matches and workouts. Be it the fire lighting across Erik's perfect features or the way his sweatpants left little to the imagination, Charles could never keep his eyes, or his mind, away from his dear friend for long.

Then something falls onto Charles' head, multiple somethings. He tears his gaze, with difficulty, from Erik's face, contorted in pained bliss, and looks to the marble floor. Three tiny screws lie harmless at his feet. _Where-_ But then he hears it, they both do. The heavy light fixture above them unhinges from the wall, swaying perilously from a rope of thick wire. Charles eyes it with trepidation, his tongue still drawing lazy circle around the head of Erik's cock, dipping into the slit. And then he is heaved to his feet and thrown to the opposite wall, Erik's lean body covering him once again. The twisted metal dangling above them moments ago falls to the floor with a deafening sound.

Charles smiles inwardly, delighted that his ministrations had momentarily weakened the metal bender's control.

Erik's fingernails are biting into the telepath's hips, his cotton-clad erection pressed firmly against Charles', throbbing and leaking. His mouth traces the length of Charles' jaw, nipping at the skin beneath it.

Charles groans, one hand fisted in the front of Erik's tee, the other reaching for his cheek. Slowly, he is able to turn Erik's face to his, and before he can make an insensitive quip to ruin the moment, Charles presses his soft lips to Erik's parted mouth.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading!  TBC**


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